In Between Dallas and Austin

Chapter Three - In Between Fandom and Korean Drama

Chapter Three

In Between Fandom and Korean Drama

Walking home with a limp is a feat in itself. I should be awarded a knighthood. Even if I am sixteen, I’m not one of the lucky ones who gets to drive home. There are two main reasons for that.

One, I don’t have a car. With the bad economy and my sister and her kid crashing at our house, the chances of me getting a car are as low as Rob Ford is high on crack.

And two, I don’t have a license. It’s not because I don’t want one, or because I’m too lazy to go take the test, or because I’m scared of driving or because I failed the test. It’s because my parents are noobs. Sure, I love my parents, they’re great people, I owe them my life and all that, but they’re also overbearingly protective of me. The simple thought of seeing me driving a motorized vehicle gives them premature grey hair. So, instead, they rather have me walk home with a much bigger prospect of getting kidnapped and raped in the bushes.

Parents are seriously confusing sometimes.

Also, because of the lovely talk I had with Austin von Thalberg earlier today, I feel extremely self conscious as I walk in the streets I also run in, in the morning. I have no idea where he lives. I don’t know if one of the streets I walk from school in is the same one as one of the ones I run in the morning, where he lives. And I really don’t like it.

He might have nice shoulders but knowing that someone looks at you running in the morning makes you question every decision you’ve taken so far in life. At least, it does for me. I’m not exactly the picture of sexy when I run. Okay, I’m never the picture of sexy, but at least, normally, I’m not sweaty with crazy haystack hair and skin tight clothes. I’m not above being self conscious about my love handles. I’m not fat but I’m not top model skinny either. Sure, I run so that usually takes care of most of my excess fat, but I can’t exactly help having this little fat above my waistline that just doesn’t want to disappear. My sister London says it’s because I haven’t lost my baby fat yet. I say it’s because it loves me and doesn’t ever ever want to leave me. Either way, it’s there and it’s not going anywhere. And I don’t understand how someone could find me interesting enough to be an incentive to wake up in the morning.

I hate my life right now.

When I finally arrive home, still paranoiac about having been watched as I walked, I make a beeline for my room, ignoring my mother’s greeting. I say hi but I don’t proceed to give her a play by play of my day. I don’t want to have to tell her that a popular guy at school watches me run. That would be a recipe for disaster, as in, we’d move away and I’d never be allowed to run again. And I would be put into a tower without stairs to get out, at the top of a volcano with a dragon guarding me.

When I get into my room, I change into sweat pants and an old t-shirt of mine that I cut the sleeves off, so it kind of looks like an odd tank top. I love it because it’s comfortable and the periodic table of element is printed on it, so it’s comfortable and useful.

The next step is easy. I sit at my study desk and turn on my lap top. This lap top was a present from my grandparents last Christmas. Before that, I had to use the commune desktop that sits in between the kitchen and the living room. My parents put it there because you can’t hide what you’re doing when you use that computer. Everyone can see when they walk by. It’s my parents way of making sure we never started to send nudes to strangers. But the problem is, with how much time I spend on the internet, my parents finally caved in and allowed me to have my own computer. But I have to leave my door open when I’m on my computer.